


Request a Shot of Hanakotoba

by JemTheKingOfSass



Category: Free!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Artist Haruka, Barista Rin, Japanese flower language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-14 11:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemTheKingOfSass/pseuds/JemTheKingOfSass
Summary: The musical tenor dances in his ears as Haru gazes at the long, graceful fingers resting on his sleeve. “Oh, I’m Matsuoka Rin, by the way, just Rin is fine though. Welcome to Samezuka, my second favorite place in the whole world.”Haru tilts his head and his vision swims with warmth, beauty, energy, color,red. The scones are forgotten, the coffee scent all but gone, the lighting shifts to one bright spotlight in front of him as the world narrows to a single point. A thin eyebrow lifts in amusement, Haru must be gawking. He clears his throat, thicker than the last time he swallowed. “Nanase Haruka. Haru.”Rin’s smile grows. “Ah. Well in that case, Haru, are you sweet or salty?”





	Request a Shot of Hanakotoba

**Author's Note:**

> Does the world need another Coffee Shop AU? No, it does not. Did that stop me? Not hardly. I apologize in advance for the name of the Matsuoka family coffee shop. I almost just called it Jitters or The Bean.
> 
>  

 

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

Haru walks down the street, gripping the flier Makoto had shoved into his hands as he pushed him out of his own front door, locking it behind them. Makoto always remembers to secure Haru’s door, Haru rarely does. 

 

_“I’m sure you’ll be able to do your art in this new place too.”_

_“It’s not the same, Makoto.”_

_“It’s been open for months now.”_

_“I sketch and paint here just fine.”_

_“But you say yourself you aren’t as inspired in your flat! A coffee shop is a coffee shop, Haru. Chairs, tables, hot beverages, I bet they can even make a matcha latte, as dry as you want it.”_

_“I drink other things too.”_

 

His best friend had rolled his eyes with a smile that lit up his entire face, just like now, urging him for the umpteenth time to give this new place a shot, while grabbing his gear bag, Haru’s supplies, and ushering Haru unceremoniously out of his apartment. They go together for a few blocks before Makoto splits off for the firehouse and Haru continues on. He walks until he reaches the destination listed on the colorful sheet of paper in his hand, which is full of so much life and character it can barely be contained, spilling off the sheet onto Haru’s fingers. 

Haru glares at the front door of this new and revamped cafe, _his cafe_ , like it personally offends him. If he thinks about it too hard, he is offended, not by the aging process or that the old owners retired, but that things have to shift and alter course while there is nothing Haru can do to reverse the tides. At times, Haru is a spectator in his own life. Samezuka. A lifeless shark decal floats under the name on the door, which is printed in an underwhelming font. With a deep and resigned sigh, already feeling his inner muse shriveling more than she has since his beloved Iwatobi Cafe closed, he pulls the door open.

Immediately, Haru’s nose is hit with the pleasant smells of freshly roasted coffee beans, the spicy notes of tea leaves cutting through the bitterness, bubbling milk and burnt sugar enticingly sweet. The walls are a crisp eggshell white, highlighting the gleaming wood of the tables scattered throughout the space, glowing Edison bulbs hanging over each one. Soft downtempo music thumps into the space, resonating with the same pulse of the flier, almost luring Haru into swaying his hips with the beat. 

A loud, ringing laugh catches Haru’s attention, breaks him out of his revery, and pulls him towards the counter, where a spotless display case showcases a handful of trays bearing scones. Haru leans down, careful not to touch the glass and leave a fingerprint, and peruses the offerings, placards hand-written in both Japanese and English calligraphy. The aroma of the scones teases him as he takes in each flavor, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. All the flavors should be discordant, yet somehow mingle together in a tempting combination: cheddar jalapeño, bacon scallion, curried ginger, raspberry white chocolate, strawberry rhubarb, blueberry maple. 

“Can I help you decide on anything or are you just gonna block the case for everyone who might actually purchase something?” Haru stands up and sees teal eyes, a slight scowl, and an intimidating figure looming over him from behind the counter, arms crossed in clear annoyance.

Haru briefly assesses the hulk of a man in front of him and dismisses him as harmless, crouching back down to continue perusing the case. He hears a scoff and footsteps moving away, but Haru’s mind is already back on the pastries in the case, musing over the unusual foreign flavors, the beauty of each individual scone, each one crying out to be his next subject. Haru lifts his bag over his head and slides it to the ground, before rifling through it for his sketch pad and pencils. As he is pulling the implements out, a hot hand appears on his forearm, halting his motion. 

“Would you like to try a sample before choosing? It can be a bit much, this many flavors. My business partner thinks I should pare it down every day, but I can’t leave out any of my favorites, you know?” The musical tenor dances in his ears as Haru gazes at the long, graceful fingers resting on his sleeve. “Oh, I’m Matsuoka Rin, by the way, just Rin is fine though. Welcome to Samezuka, my second favorite place in the whole world.”

Haru tilts his head and his vision swims with warmth, beauty, energy, color, _red_. The scones are forgotten, the coffee scent all but gone, the lighting shifts to one bright spotlight in front of him as the world narrows to a single point. A thin eyebrow lifts in amusement, Haru must be gawking. He clears his throat, thicker than the last time he swallowed. “Nanase Haruka. Haru.”

Rin’s smile grows. “Ah. Well in that case, Haru, are you sweet or salty?”

Haru blinks and tears his eyes away from Rin, turning back to the baked goods. “Salty, I think.” He wants to try them all, thoroughly intrigued by all the unusual flavor combinations he's never seen before. 

Rin laughs, undeniably the owner of the magical siren song Haru heard earlier, and releases his hold on Haru. He peeks over to make sure his sleeve is still down to his wrist, his arm feels naked with the abrupt loss of touch. Rin glides smoothly around to the back of the display case and slides a tray out. “Curried ginger for you then. Unique, spicy but subtle, it lingers on your tongue after you’re done. You can’t forget you’ve eaten it, even when it’s gone.” Rin’s eyes sparkle with mischief and a gleam of something more painful that Haru can’t quite put his finger on, a hint of deeper meaning, something beyond the mellow heat of curry and ginger. 

“Thank you.” Haru takes the plate and sets it on the counter, while Rin moves towards the espresso machines.

“What can I get you to drink? Since that scone is savory, I recommend something with a milk base, but obviously I can make you anything you'd like, so long as I have the ingredients here.” Haru watches Rin move with purpose, no motion wasted or unnecessary energy expended, as he glances back at Haru expectantly.

Haru spits out his order without thought, the only coffee house drink he enjoys, though he has only ever tried a small sampling of what most have to offer. “Extra dry two percent matcha latte.”

Rin smirks over at Haru, waving away the wallet he notices in his hand. He stirs the freshly ground matcha powder into hot water with a wide bamboo whisk, wrist snapping briskly, before steaming the milk, setting most aside to froth. He carefully combines the milk with the green tea and dollops the foam on top, before turning his back to Haru, shielding the latte from view. Haru takes a moment to appreciate Rin's muscles flexing under his shirt as he works, the long lines of his bare forearm shifting gracefully as he pours and mixes. After a minute, Rin strides back over, cup in hand. 

“The seats by the window are the most popular for people watching, the couches by the fireplace are in high demand in the cooler months. Where would you like to sit?” Rin gestures carefully with the hand not holding Haru's drink, protectively carrying it to prevent jostling. 

Haru indicates the window seats are preferable, and they make their way over to an unclaimed spot. The door opens and Rin offers a friendly smile to the new customers before peering over his shoulder to verify that his snarky, imposing employee is manning the register, Haru seeing no signs of anyone else currently working.

Haru chooses a stool and sits down, placing his plate on the high table. Rin pauses, shoots Haru a shy smile, then presents the latte with a flourish. Haru gazes at him, enjoying the faint blush that works its way across the bridge of Rin's nose and the way his teeth gnaw into the left side his bottom lip, but most of all, he is captivated by the way he runs his thumb over his knuckles in an endearing tell that gives away his nerves. 

Rin's eyes flick briefly to the latte and then back to Haru. Haru follows his lead and is wonderstruck when he finally notices the top of his drink. Drawn into the stiff microfoam is a flower, intricate petals and details carefully etched onto the surface of Haru's drink. 

“Rin, that's beautiful,” murmurs Haru, unable to stop looking at the latte art. 

A grin and a deeper flush brighten Rin's face, and to Haru it's as though the sun is shining in this neighborhood coffee shop. “Thanks! I...well, it's something I enjoy doing, that my mother taught me. She's...a florist now.” 

“Ah. That explains the flower. Why hibiscus?” Haru wants to know everything, soak up information about this man. 

Despite seeming impossible, Rin's face heats further. “You recognize the flower? I mean, obviously you do or you wouldn't have asked, but I'm impressed. Do you know flower language?” Haru shakes his head, but is surprised to find he wants to understand it, become fluent in this rare dialect. “Oh, well, it's your first time to Samezuka, and traditionally a hibiscus is presented to a new visitor someplace. I really hope to see you here again.”

Haru’s eyes widen and Rin retreats, taking a step away from him. They stare at each other for a moment, air tightening with a slight tension the longer the silence surrounds them. The background din of the coffee shop, air softly blowing over them, and a muted ring of the bell as the door opens, filters into their bubble. “I'll be back.”

A weight visibly lifts off Rin, giddy at hearing Haru's eventual reply. “Listen, I should go help Sousuke, you know…”, trailing off with a one-shouldered shrug and a grin that Haru commits to memory.

“Thank you for all your help.” Haru stares as Rin awkwardly gestures a half-wave and practically sprints back to the counter. The enormous surly coworker, Sousuke, smirks at Rin, and Rin blushes a solid pink as he punches Sousuke in the arm before checking over waiting orders and beginning to prepare requested beverages. Haru takes a sip of his latte and the bitter grassy flavor of the matcha hits his tongue, soothed by velvety foam and balanced by the naturally sweet richness of the milk. It's one of the best he's ever had the pleasure of experiencing. He is aware that culture purists insist that adding milk to high quality matcha tea drowns out the sharp earthy flavor; Haru wants to demand the experts try one of Rin’s drinks. 

Haru picks up the scone, closing his eyes and inhaling its sweet, spicy fragrance. He takes a small bite, chewing and letting all the explosive flavors burst in his mouth. The curry is exotic and warm, while the ginger adds a peppery, lemony heat. A tiny sound of pleasure escapes his throat, and he takes another sip of his latte to taste everything together. It's harmonious and Haru wants to capture the flavors forever. He pulls out his sketch pad and colored pencils, allowing the rich flavors and aromas to guide his hand as it dances across the paper. 

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

“Back again?” Sousuke’s voice rumbles near Haru’s ear, startling him temporarily away from his work. He places a ceramic mug carefully down on an open space at Haru’s table with steady, gentle hands despite their size. The first thing Haru does, and has every time since being surprised at his initial visit, is peer at the top of his drink to see what flower awaits him. 

Haru stares at the delicately crafted adorned foam, mentally flipping through all the plants he knows. “It’s an iris,” mumbles Haru after a few minutes, Sousuke hovering by his chair in tolerant anticipation. “Why did Rin choose this?”

Sousuke snorts. “I chose an iris actually, Rin is in the back stocking shelves. He was planning on coming out front around your normal time. You’re early today. I thought I’d make your latte.” With that, he ambles back to the counter, where he begins wiping down the espresso equipment. Haru idly watches him work, until realizing he hadn’t gotten an answer. Yanking out his phone, he searches for the meaning behind the flower. 

Loyalty. 

Haru digs through his wallet and fishes out the card Sousuke had given him recently. 

 

_“Here, Nanase, start one of these.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Read it, it says it’s a loyalty card.”_

_“I don’t need my tenth drink free.”_

_“You’ve been here almost every day for the last month. You could have saved a little money. If you don’t want it, don’t take it.”_

_“No, I want it.”_

 

Haru fingers the card, rubbing gently over the one punch Sousuke had given him that day, card mostly intact, pulled out in reverence often, but utilized only that once. With his thumb, he lightly traces the characters of Rin’s name on the corner of the card, printed below the store’s address and phone number. He hadn’t wanted to keep coming back here, it felt wrong somehow that it was no longer Iwatobi, the graceful arc of a dolphin soaring over the cafe’s name, the dark calm of the interior, the quiet of the aging owners who had helped raise him in his parents’ absence. He’d managed to stay away for a week, before Makoto demanded to know why he wasn’t returning to a place that inspired him to create a piece of art that now hangs in his kitchen.

Haru had no answers for his childhood friend and no art to show for his obstinance. 

A few days after his maiden trip to Samezuka, he had stood at his easel for hours, staring at a blank canvas, no muse grabbing a hold of his arm and his imagination, encouraging it to take flight. He waited for the spark, the vision, the inspiration to grip him and not release until bold strokes and feathery details and stark negative space defined the image in front of him, nothing turning into something by simple, deft movements of his hand. Though his personal work is lagging, Haru had been able to fulfill two commissions that week. They looked fine and fulfilled the customer’s requests, yet he had taken a percentage off the agreed upon price of both because he knew the pieces were lacking the life people claim he breathes into his art.

When Haru returned to Samezuka the following week, partially to put a cease and desist order on Makoto’s questions, partially to kickstart his artistic genius into crawling out of its self-appointed hole, Rin’s face had lit up. In fact, it brightens every time Haru walks through the door, the bell tinkling, announcing his arrival, a graceful hand behind the counter already reaching for the matcha powder. Seeing Haru daily for weeks on end does nothing to dim Rin’s enthusiasm at the mere sight of him and his supplies. At slow times throughout the day, Rin sits with him, completely taken with the images unfurling on the paper, lines and colors appearing at the mercy of Haru’s fingers. At busy times, Haru puts down his tools and slips over to the end of the counter to witness Rin’s creativity take shape, and though his drinks are more fleeting, a caffeinated moment in time, they are no less beautiful. 

Haru spots Rin emerging from the back at Sousuke’s beckon, wiping his hands dry and tying on his red and black plaid apron. There is a lull in inspiration but a surge of orders, so he joins Rin at the pick-up counter to watch the drinks be crafted. Every now and then, Rin takes extra time to carefully draw a flower on the foam, leaving a monochromatic bloom that Haru yearns to hang in his bedroom and study. Curiosity pokes at him, encouraging him to satisfy it as the rush dies down.

“Rin,” begins Haru, as a he watches a matcha latte begin its tedious assembly. “Why do some drinks you make get flowers on the top and some don’t?” 

The barista pauses his movements without glancing up, then continues making the beverage while replying. “Some people order one.” Rin slowly finishes layering the drink, drawing an image on the top before placing it in front of Haru with a slight smile, one that fails to reach his eyes. He gestures at a small, understated sign hanging below the expansive chalkboard menu that fills most of the wall behind the counter. "If you look, I know you'll see it."

 

**✿ _Request a shot of Hanakotoba_ ✿**

****  


“What are those flowers painted on it?” Haru has more questions in the wake of an answer, weight pressing down on him as he stares at the sign, watching as Sousuke takes it down and brings it over, placing it next to Haru’s steaming cup of tea. Sousuke fondly clasps Rin’s shoulder before informing Rin he’ll be in the back if needed. 

Haru traces the lines of the petals, recognizing only one of the three flowers adorning the sign. If he shuts his eyes and focuses on the smooth raised surface of the paint, he believes he will be able to feel the life force thrumming through each fluid brush stroke left on the wood. Rin joins him on the customer side of the counter.

“This sign hung in my parent’s coffee shop. I took it out of storage when I opened this place. My grandmother taught my father flower language and he thought it would be fun to share it with customers. My dad wrote the sign, encouraging people to ask about Hanakotoba, order a drawing on the top of their drink. He really just wanted to share his love of the language and start discourse.” Rin pauses, gazing down at the sign. “My grandmother painted the flowers on later.” 

Haru taps on the bloom he can identify, fingertip grazing the foam. “Why cherry blossoms?”

A full smile graces Rin’s face for the first time since the conversation began. “Well, they're my favorite, always have been. And they have a couple meanings actually, but here it stands for the transience of life.” The light dims slightly as he takes Haru’s hand and lays it over another flower. “This one is an aster. It’s a symbol of remembrance.”

Before Rin can move him to the final flower, Haru twists his hand so his palm lays face up against Rin’s. “You don’t have to explain this sign to me, if it’s too much. You don’t owe me anything just because I asked a nosy question.” Strong, slender fingers lace through his, their wrists touching enough that Haru can detect the steady heartbeat that throbs through Rin, driving him, motivating him, keeping him tethered to this realm, connected to some of his loved ones, yet kept at a distance from others.

Rin moves their joined hands to the last flower. “This is a sweet pea.” 

Haru is hurtled back to his grandmother’s funeral, the strong aroma of sweet peas that were placed on her stone, overwhelming him, the distinct smell always reminding him of her death. He doesn’t know exactly what the flower translation is in this ancient language, but he comprehends the meaning. He should have recognized the petals, even though he has tried to avoid looking at them since her passing. “They’re a farewell.”

Rin dips his head, keeping a firm grip on Haru’s hand. Haru now knows whose pulse he’ll sense if he touches the opalescent veins of the flowers painted so tenderly onto the sign, presses into them, attempting to coax life back into something long passed. 

_My mother taught me. She's a florist now._

_My grandmother painted the flowers on later._

Haru pushes, pries, digs deeper than he probably should; an unknown force compels him, drags the words out of his throat and out into the open air where Rin will be forced to face them. “What happened to your father?”

“A fire in their coffee shop.” Rin shrugs with feigned acceptance and attempts to pull his hand away. Haru doesn’t let him go. With a weary sigh and a slight wave of his free arm, Rin motions around the entirety of the cafe. “It’s all for him. I’m content, you know?”

“You should be, Rin. He’d be proud.” Haru will never know Rin’s father in this reality, but there is nothing to not admire in the man standing before him, fist pressed to his mouth, tears glistening like rain drops, refusing to fall. He releases Rin’s hand and picks up his latte, surely now tepid but he doesn’t care, too busy appreciating the personalized art atop his drink and the barista who drew it there. “What’s this one?”

The corners of Rin’s mouth lift, and Haru has never been more grateful to see a smile on anyone’s face. With his inquiry, he had dragged the storm back into Rin’s life, but the sunshine after the clouds drift away is a refreshing sight. “It’s a chrysanthemum. As soon as you asked about the latte art, I selfishly chose a flower for me, a promise to tell you the truth.”

The door opens and Rin glances up when he hears the bell. He calls out a greeting as he makes his way over to the register, nodding a brief farewell over his shoulder at Haru. He grabs his tea and heads back to the table he’s begun to think of as his spot, quickly gathering up his pads and pencils and charcoals, so focused on his next destination that he misses the footsteps approaching his table. Sousuke stands next to him, holding a damp rag and a bottle of cleaner.

“You’re one of the only people who didn’t know Rin at the time, who knows why he opened this place.” Sousuke raises an eyebrow, giving Haru a significant look. 

“Is this a shovel talk?” Haru frowns while he fastens the buckle of his bag. 

Sousuke huffs out a laugh and eventually shakes his head. “No. I doubt you’ll need one.” He sprays the table and begins wiping down the glossy wooden surface. He peers back up at Haru. “But don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” assures Haru, mind spinning with a hundred thoughts, seeds floating through his mind and trying to take root, waiting for Haru to water them, show them the light, and allow them to bloom. He catches Rin’s eyes from the door, gives a wave, and heads back to his flat, ready to settle in for long hours of research.

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

Mocha Matsuoka. For weeks, Haru dives into every newspaper article, magazine write-up, interview, photograph, anything he can feast his eyes upon regarding the destroyed coffee shop of Rin’s family. He learns about Kyou’s Korner, a place for Rin’s grandmother to display her art inside the cafe, painting whatever spilled out of her fingers with no rhyme or reason. He sees pictures of young Rin and his even younger sister, Gou, with their parents, all standing proudly in front of the store; he easily acknowledges the stunning resemblance of adult Rin to his father. He finds a copy of an old menu, much simpler than Samezuka’s offerings, and when he zooms in it appears to be hand-written in the same style as the Hanakotoba sign that currently hangs behind Rin’s counter. 

Haru works on commissions, bringing only those pieces to Samezuka and leaving all the fact finding at home, he doesn’t want to drag memories of Mocha Matsuoka in front of Rin. Every other spare second is devoted to research and brainstorming and sketching. One day, he casually asks Rin about art throughout the coffee shop. The walls are bare, clean and minimal, which Haru appreciates in the space, but he is overflowing with inspiration. The more time he spends with Rin, filling himself with Rin’s energy and passion and generosity, the more Haru wants to give him something beyond empty walls. His parent’s coffee shop bursts with life even through the faded black and white photographs of the newspaper; this store deserves that same pulse beating within in, the heart of Samezuka always ready with a smile and a welcome for anyone who enters his world. At times, Haru glimpses the reality beneath the pleasant facade, Rin desperately attempting to fill the void left from a father snatched away from him too soon, and the pressure of recreating all his happy memories for this neighborhood.

Rin peers up from the bottom shelf of the store room, where he crouches, reaching for a replacement tin of cocoa powder, eyebrows up in surprise. “You think I need art?” He laughs loudly, the joyous sound fills the small room, cut off only by an enormous yawn. “Of course you do, you’re an _artist_. Hmmm, you’re not going to try and sell me a bunch of your work are you? I doubt I can afford you, Haru.”

Haru scowls, even though he can tell he’s being teased. “I’m not trying to sell you art, Rin.” Now is as good a time as any to plant the seed in the barista’s head, the thoughts that have been brewing over the last several weeks, taking root and thriving as the weeks pass and Haru soaks up every bit of Rin he possibly can. He needs this idea to break through; he’s impatient and he craves Rin in full bloom. “I saw you yawn just now. You’re tired.”

Rin shrugs hopelessly. “Sure am, I’m always tired. Running a business is hard, I don’t know how my parents did it and raised us at the same time. I don’t have the money to hire anyone else besides me and Sousuke. I mean, I’m pretty sure by this point I actually live here and my blood is half coffee.”

“You could take a vacation. Close the shop for a week.” Haru suggests impulsively, like he hasn’t been obsessing over how to get Rin out of his cafe for the past month, as though he has not been completely focused on helping someone who doles out assistance without any hesitation but never asks for any in return. 

The expression on Rin’s face halts any sense of smug satisfaction that had begun to rise inside Haru. “A vacation? How can I do that? Sousuke is in school half the time, working here is already slowing down his education, I can’t ask him to do that just so I can lounge around doing nothing for a week. A _week_ , Haru!”

Haru hums in seeming acceptance and lets the subject drop. He waits a few days until Rin has a meeting with a banker to discuss loan refinancing options before cornering his business partner. “I want to give Rin something.”

Sousuke snorts and stares at Haru. “He likes tacky jewelry, smelly candles, and everything having to do with Kitajima Kosuke.” 

“No,” begins Haru, only slightly unnerved by the weight of the gaze on him. “I want to give him art. But I need him out of his coffee shop to do what I think he deserves.”

“He deserves everything,” retorts Sousuke automatically, before flinching back and finally shifting his eyes off Haru. 

Haru solemnly nods, taking his turn to visually pin the other man down. “I agree. Is that why you’re here with him even though you’re still going to school?”

Intense teal eyes resume their glaring before softening, grudgingly acquiescing to Haru and long-past memories. “I’ve known Rin since the first day of Kindergarten. Other kids were scared of me for some reason, but Rin marched right up while I was swinging and offered to be my friend. I couldn’t turn that down. All he ever talked about was swimming and taking over his parent’s cool business someday with his sister, even though none of us understood coffee at the time. We swam together after school, and then his dad would pick us up and bring us both back to Mocha, where we colored and played and were complete nuisances, always begging for extra treats that hadn’t been sold yet. Man, the two of us and Gou could create an unholy ruckus.”

“When Rin’s dad died, it’s a total cliche, but a part of him died too. I mean obviously, right? But he was so sad, nothing made him smile anymore. He told his mom he’d quit school, begging to run the cafe with her, but clearly he was too young, we were seven years old. When his mom sold Mocha a few years later, I promised myself that I’d do anything to see him happy again. After we graduated high school, he showed me all his business plans for finding a store location someday, getting financial support, anything he could think of for how to open a coffee shop like his parents had done. He asked me if I’d think about doing it with him. I didn’t have to think, I said yes, and deferred my acceptance to university, got a job with him at a generic coffee shop. Rin went to night school for his business degree, while I worked overtime to save up money, which we needed on top of loans and my parents’ assistance. When he was done, it was my turn, which is why I’m still taking night classes. Rin managed to graduate in only three years. It’s taking me a bit longer, especially since we opened Samezuka in the meantime.” Sousuke picks up a rag to idly wipe the counter, clearing his throat and shaking off the fog of reminiscing. A slight sheen dampens his eyes and Haru chooses to ignore it. 

“You aren’t going for business, are you?” Haru speculates, casting his net wide for information he can tuck away to consider for another time. 

Sousuke shakes his head. “I would make the decisions I’ve made again, every time. But I’ve always wanted to be a physical therapist. I hurt my shoulder swimming and my physical therapist saved my high school swim career. I’d love to be able to do the same for someone else.” He gestures at the space around them. “I’m studying for a completely different field than all my work experience, which is one reason it’s taking me so long. Soon I need to do some sort of internship if I ever want to actually succeed but I’m still not sure how to make that happen. I can’t abandon Rin and leave him by himself. His mother has her own job and Gou lives in another city, neither wants anything to do with coffee shops anymore, no matter how much they love Rin.”

Haru stuffs this into the overflowing Rin section of his brain to be processed at a later date. “Take him away for a week during your next school break. I need him gone, you need to talk to him.” As the bell over the door jangles with the arrival of new customers, Sousuke gives a wan smile and starts to shift away from Haru, who darts a hand out to latch onto a sturdy forearm. “Think about it. Please.”

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

 

_**Yamazaki:** We’re on the train. It took a lot of convincing but he’s convinced. I put a key under the planter with the poppies. Make sure you stop and get it today._

 

Haru bolts awake and out of bed at the blaring sound of his phone. He usually lounges around dozing far too long into the morning, but this signal has been planned well in advance and he’s been anticipating it like a child counting down the minutes until his birthday party. He had even assigned a special notification sound to Sousuke so he would know exactly when Rin is out of Samezuka. He idly wonders if he’ll ever hear that particular ring again.

 

_**Yamazaki:** I plan on telling Rin about the other thing we discussed. Be ready to comfort him when we come home. I’m pretty sure he’ll come to you._

 

Haru blinks down at his phone, thoughts swirling as he stumbles to his closet and tugs on painting clothes. His supplies have been set aside for days, an overflowing moving box stuffed with paint, brushes, rags, and seventeen-year old newspapers, ready at a moment’s notice for the art he intends to display on Samazuka’s walls. He texts Makoto, informing him that it all begins today, reminding him to stop by as soon as his shift at work is finished. Grabbing the box, unable to keep a smile off his face, Haru practically sprints out the door to get started. 

Hours later, the bell rings over the door, a sound Haru does not realize he misses until he hears it again, as his best friend strides through the door. 

“Hey Haru! I brought my hammer and nails.” Makoto holds up his tools with a grin. “I’m glad you asked me to bring these because I was pretty worried you’d want me to help you paint.”

Wiping off his hands on his grubby t-shirt, Haru snorts. “I’ve seen your art before. I would never ask that.”

“Haru! You can’t judge my art from when we were kids!” Makoto laughs, belying his feigned indignation.

“I can and I just did. Stay away from my mural.” Haru teases while leading Makoto over to the tables, where stretched canvases are stacked on every available surface.

“Just direct me where you want each…” Makoto trails off as he sifts through the paintings, eyes wide, mouth agape. 

Haru blushes, turning his head to stare at the faint lines he began sketching onto the large expanse of the wall adjacent to the counter, unsure why his best friend has ceased to function. “Don’t look so awestruck, Makoto. You’ve seen my art before.” 

“No, but Haru,” utters Makoto, voice pitched low in wonder. “These paintings are stunning, they all look alive. You’ve outdone yourself. Rin will be blown away.”

A swell of pride sweeps over Haru. Aesthetically, he knows the paintings are pleasing, but hadn’t considered anyone else’s reaction to them. He had simply painted what he felt as he thought about the meaning behind each image, the power wielded with his paintbrush, contemplating everything he wanted to visually convey to Rin. “Thank you. I hope so.” He reaches into his box, pulling out a sheet of graph paper to hand to Makoto, with mapped out instructions for where each painting will hang. His best friend nods to himself as he skims over the page, before glancing back up at Haru.

“While we’re working on all this, maybe you can tell me the story behind all these flowers.” 

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

Haru tugs on Rin’s hand, leading him blindly into his own establishment, key gripped reverently in his fingers as he fumbles with the lock. His patience has been tested over the last week. He had finished with the artwork early, and spent the remaining few days tweaking and fretting, nervous for Rin’s reaction. Sousuke had initially grumbled about misleading Rin, closing the shop, admitting his next professional move, yet he had done it. Sousuke had gifted Haru the week to give something back to Rin, to breathe life into Samezuka.

“Haru, seriously, a blindfold? I can’t believe this is necessary. Why can’t I look around my own business? Don’t let me trip, there’s an uneven board by the door. Haru!” Despite lodging a string of complaints and taking a comically high step over the threshold, Rin is smiling and relaxed, which eases Haru’s nerves. He’s coiled tightly, so proud of what he has done, he knows the art is his best quality, and yet, Rin’s reception is what matters. 

Haru brings them both to a halt as soon as the door closes behind them, bell sounding their arrival, echoing in the empty space. Haru unhooks his messenger bag from where it is slung around his shoulders, sets it down, and shuts his own eyes. He needs to view the space as Rin is poised to do, as soon as Haru instructs him to look. He breathes in deeply, squeezing Rin’s hand as he does. “Breathe, Rin,” urges Haru as he leans over to remove the sleep mask from the barista’s face. “And open your eyes.”

Rin strides immediately over to the most eye-catching piece in Samezuka, the one entire wall that has been sketched by hand and painted with affection, a snapshot of a day years in the past. A proud, lively foursome assembles on the stairs in front of their family business, an unobtrusive coffee shop looking out over the sea. Tables and chairs are arranged on the wraparound porch offering customers a perfect view of the water, the welcoming sign over the door is written in scrawling script, bearing a near-identical likeness to the original drawn by Rin’s father. Tentative fingers ghost over the man’s image, tall and content, holding the hand of his young son. 

“He looks like he’s alive,” murmurs Rin, so quietly Haru only hears because of how closely he stands behind him. “I remember when the newspaper took this picture. I can actually remember holding his hand. He was so strong, you know?”

“Would you make fun if I said he’s alive in your heart, Rin?” Haru inquires, glad he’s moved, yet desperately hoping he’s not too upset.

“No,” snorts Rin, the noise that escapes him sounds wet and thick with emotion.

Haru peers over to see the flushed cheeks and tight line of Rin’s mouth, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Do you like it?” It’s a foolish question, Haru immediately wishing he hadn’t asked it. He’s taken aback when Rin spins around and clutches his arms, salty tears dribbling out of the corners of his eyes.

“Like it?” Rin’s jaw drops, shiny crimson eyes searching Haru’s face. “I haven’t seen my father in years. I’ve lived so much more of my life without him than I ever did with him. Sometimes, I forget what he sounded like, what he looked like, how huge and invincible I felt when I rode on his shoulders. I thought opening Samezuka would make me feel closer to him, and _it does_ but it’s not enough, you know?”

Haru nods, tense, he had truly thought this was a good idea, a real gift. He had braced himself for a bone-crushing hug and a genuine smile laced with tears. He had not prepared for a flayed open emotional moment requiring Haru to pull Rin through to the other side.

Rin coughs in an attempt to compose himself, as he glances once more over his shoulder at the mural. He heaves a breath deep enough it’s as though there is hardly any air left in the store, shoulders slumping as tension melts away. “It’s the most gorgeous painting I’ve ever seen. It’s like he’s actually here now, as much as he can be. Thank you, Haru. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

“There’s more art, actually,” begins Haru, a little nervous to unveil the canvases scattered throughout the coffee shop. “Do you think you want to see them or would you rather leave them covered.”

Rin’s expression might be comical in a situation less charged, eyes wide and unblinking, while a frown knits his brows together and slackens his mouth in shock. The incredulity paired with flushed cheeks, swollen eyelids, and drying tear-tracks sends a flare of affection shooting through Haru. He muses on all the time they’ve spent together over the last few months, discussing anything and nothing, observing each other’s art forms, Rin offering suggestions when Haru was stuck on commission pricing, Haru staying late to help wipe tables and clean the display case window. He has gathered numerous tiny pieces of Rin, fragments and shapes Haru has tried to fit together in order to grasp the full picture of this beautiful barista. It's an image which Haru knows includes a heart full of love and open for more, housed in a man willing to help everyone else, while striving diligently towards what he desires out of life. Now he understands the entire puzzle is coated in this stripped down version of Rin, as it spills freely out of him, all his pain, adoration, and motivation pushing him beyond what seems possible.

“Show me, Haru.” Rin finally releases Haru’s arms, and he immediately misses the contact. He grasps Rin’s hands to lead him over to where the paintings begin, above a small round table situated near the entrance. He tugs off the protective cloth, and as Rin absorbs the first painting, Haru shuffles through the entire shop removing all but one of the coverings from what appear to be simple paintings of flowers, excited to watch Rin read them and translate the message. 

“This is the first one.” Haru points out as he returns to Rin’s side.

Rin turns to Haru, a question on his face. “This is a red camellia. It's for love or for a noble death.”

“I read it's either. Since it's for your father, I think both makes sense." Haru fumbles, hoping he didn't misinterpret all the flower language he had spent hours studying. Rin nods in understanding, and they move to the next painting, revealing heather, which Rin identifies and notes that it means solitude.

They meander through the coffee shop, Rin reading each flower’s symbolism out loud, piecing together the journey he’s taken from childhood to now, the unseen finale still merely a hope on Haru’s part. It begins with the desire to follow in his father’s footsteps, losing him, and then the long process of fulfilling promises made to himself. Morning glories, zinnias, and peonies showcase the loyal devotion to his father’s dream and the bravery it takes to doggedly pursue it. 

The middle section of paintings are Haru’s favorites, highlighting the things that make Rin and Samezuka so intriguing. Honeysuckle, jasmine, and lilies-of-the-valley visually display the very essence of Rin, his generosity and warmth keeping people returning for coffee and the intangible located within these walls. The next painting showcases a large bunch of small, delicate lilac flowers, bursting off the canvas, hanging up on the wall in an unobstructed view from register. 

“Hydrangeas,” breathes Rin reverently. “These are probably my second favorite flower. I love how they look, and when I see them, it makes me try really hard to remember to be proud of myself and everything I’ve accomplished. It’s hard, you know? There’s so much I haven’t managed to do yet. But what I’ve done, it’s pretty good, yeah? Gods, they’re so beautiful, Haru.”

Haru inclines his head, shocked Rin can doubt his success, his importance, his accomplishments. “ _You’re_ beautiful, Rin. You should feel proud of yourself all the time.”

Rin stiffens and faces Haru, blush staining his cheeks. “Haru, I-” He bites his bottom lip and cuts himself off, forcibly twisting back to face the hydrangeas. The back of his neck flushes, and Haru barely restrains himself from reaching out to touch the heated skin. “Let’s see the next one.”

The final section of art is a self-indulgence, a message for Haru as much as it is for Rin. He doesn’t know how to give voice to his burgeoning feelings, has always relied on his paintings to speak for him. Stomach in knots that they aren’t clear enough, yet are too forceful and Rin will see right through him; Haru is transparent. He wishes he could rip the canvases from the walls, hide them away from Rin’s astute gaze, and still he needs Rin to know, to understand, to peel away the layers and reveal Haru’s growing, inescapable hunger. 

Rin takes in the last group of flowers, silently mouthing words Haru longs to hear but is too afraid to inquire about. When Rin gets to the covered art, he stops and stares at Haru, who feels dangerously exposed. His head pounds as his heart beats faster, he wants to disappear, yet desperately longs to understand what is going through Rin’s head right now.

A smile appears on Rin’s face as he points to the final canvas. “I have a guess as to what’s under that sheet.” 

“I bet you’re only a little right.” Haru banters back in an attempt to slow his racing pulse, waiting for Rin’s verdict.

“So these flowers are interesting choices, Haru.” Rin gestures to the four paintings that have just been discovered. “Daffodil, clover, bluebells, and pink roses. I’m not sure how those tell my story. Well, I guess clover I understand, I mean, I am pretty lucky in the grand scheme of things.”

Haru shakes his head, a furrow creasing his forehead. “No, Rin, _I’m_ lucky. These aren’t about your journey, this section is how I feel about you.” He rears back, simultaneously grateful and horrified he blurted all that out, but he could not let Rin misunderstand these. These flowers slice Haru open with a hundred shallow cuts, while the still hidden painting rips him apart and bares his soul. He gulps down his nerves. “I’m lucky because I met you here.”

“H-Haru.” Rin’s face burns and the sheen is back in his eyes.

Haru points to the daffodil, bluebells, and roses, working his way down the wall towards the final unveiling. “I respect everything about you, I am so grateful to have you in my life, and I trust you completely. You know what these flowers mean but you need to know _why_ I painted them.”

Rin opens his mouth and Haru holds up his hand, stopping all forthcoming protests. He strides over to the last painting and tears the sheet off, revealing his ultimate message. His heart is hammering so loudly that it thunders in his ears. Unlike all the other paintings, which feature one type of flower on a stark background, this one is filled with a cacophony of color and blooms. They all twist and twine around each other, spreading out in a harmonious bouquet. Haru peeks at Rin when he hears a sharp intake of breath. He watches perceptive scarlet eyes roam over each flower, cataloguing their meanings, hopefully not wanting to run far from Haru at the aggressive implication.

Rin steps closer, trails a finger along the edge of a forget-me-not petal, before leaning in and trying to smell a gardenia. “These look like I could pick them and put them in a vase with water.” He mumbles under his breath while running his hands over every inch of the art, feeling the silk of the white roses, the crinkled ridges of carnations, the smooth petals of lavender, the raised spikes of the fringed orchid. He stops at the bunches of white and yellow camellias, laying his palm flat on the canvas and closing his eyes. Slowly, he inhales a purifying breath and exhales a heavy burden, looking like he might float away if Haru were to raise him up into the sky and release him.

When Rin opens his eyes, he traces the golden outline of a flower, hollow, waiting to either be filled in or transformed into something else. He turns and pins Haru with a gaze and a smirk. “Haru. This is a tulip and it looks like it’s gonna be yellow. In fact, this whole painting is a little suspicious.” He sidles over to close the distance between them. “I love all these paintings, and I love almost all these flowers you’ve given me.”

Haru frowns at the admission that Rin dislikes one of them. Rin shoots him a cheeky wink as he walks to the door, which would look sassier if his eyes weren’t still shining with latent tears, and crouches down beside Haru’s bag. He returns with a paint pan and a couple paintbrushes, which he sets down on a table under the last canvas.

“Can I give you an answer to all this?” Rin asks, motioning up at the art hanging innocently on the wall as though it doesn’t expose Haru’s now painfully obvious affection and longing.

Haru nods and steps closer, completely drawn in by the man before him. Rin maneuvers behind him, torso flush against Haru’s back, and reaches around for a paintbrush, which he places in Haru’s hand. Then he lightly grasps Haru’s wrist and pulls it towards the paint, utilizing Haru’s arm as as extension of his own. Rin chuckles and Haru feels it reverberate through him, while the warmth of Rin’s breath on his neck ignites his nerves and sends a shiver down his spine. He tilts his head, giving more access to his shoulder, Rin’s chin slotting in perfectly like it was made to fit there.

Under Rin’s silent direction, Haru moves the dripping red paintbrush to the canvas, where it touches the blank space inside the yellow form of the tulip. Haru hears nothing except the pants of his own shallow breathing, feels his heart drumming quickly but steadily; he flutters his eyes closed to focus on the blood flowing through his body, stretching out to the tips of his toes and fingers. They are pressed so tightly together, Rin’s hand so hot holding his, he wonders if he might be able to sense the life pulsing through Rin as well. He wants to feel it moving throughout Rin’s veins, absorb its energy, to know what his generous heart sounds like as Haru rests a cheek on his chest. 

“I want to turn this into a different flower,” murmurs Rin, words coating Haru’s ears like syrup, comforting like home, sticky with the promise of sweetness. “It can’t be a yellow tulip.”

Haru swallows in a useless attempt to settle himself, wondering if Rin can smell his excitement, feel the anticipation and heat twitching in his fingers. “What should it be then?”

Rin guides their hands in repeating loops until a flower begins to form, not terribly accurate in execution, but enough for Haru to believe they are creating the same likeness. The artist in him takes over in leading their joined hands, shaping the petals, mixing a few different shades of red to add dimension to the hips. The strokes of the brush against the canvas are languid, the sway of their bodies sensual, as the rose comes to life, partially open with plenty of space to continue to bloom.

“That’s perfect,” declares Rin, cheeks shifting against Haru’s neck as his face lifts into a smile. Haru feels the expression on his skin, turning his head to see the joy radiate from Rin. 

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

Rin slaps a stack of official looking papers down on the wooden table, where Haru sits nursing his matcha latte. Sousuke sits across from him with a triple shot of espresso, the tiny cup seeming extra dainty cradled in his large hands. “Alright. Are you both really sure you want to do this?” He grabs a chair from an unoccupied neighboring table and sits with them.

Sousuke already has a pen in hand as he skims the extensive paperwork. “We talked about this on our trip and we’ve talked about it daily since then. I’m sure, Rin. _We’re_ sure.” He gestures between himself and Haru. “Plus, Haru’s share of Samezuka will allow me to pay my parents back the rest of what they loaned us and allow me to live while I earn no money interning.”

“I’m so happy for you, Sousuke. You’ll make such an amazing physical therapist.” Rin appears on the verge of crying, despite practically quivering with giddy excitement every time he and Haru brainstorm ideas for the coffee shop. Haru enjoys their discussions, how they bounce concepts back and forth, coming to agreements and learning how to compromise with each other. Haru had thought perhaps Rin would take control of all the decisions since it’s his dream, yet he is fair in business and they are equals in every sense. This is Haru’s dream now too, they share the vision, and merely thinking about owning Samezuka as Rin’s partner fills him with a deep satisfaction. Every now and then, Rin pushes back hard on an issue, but Haru finds a way to persevere, specifically when it comes to his most important new role and the baked goods.

 

_“Haru, why do we need to change the menu?”_

_“Because you don’t bake. Sousuke did and now I’m going to.”_

_“But, Haru-”_

_“I’m barely changing anything. I’ll keep all your mother’s scones, but I’m adding a few of my own.”_

_“But, Haru-”_

_“Do you trust me, Rin?”_

_“Of course! But, Haru, I don’t think anyone is going to eat a mackerel scone.”_

_“We’ll just have to wait and see. People will have the chance to try them every day since we can’t leave out any of our favorites.”_

_“Haru!”_

 

Haru reaches over to clasp Rin’s hand, reminding him he’s not alone. Sousuke leans in to lightly punch Rin’s shoulder. “I’ll still stop by here all the time, we’ll still hang out. I’m not leaving you, Rin.” He sits back and scrawls his name with a flourish before handing the papers to Haru.

Without sparing them a glance, Haru also addresses Rin’s concerns, squeezing the hand he holds tighter. “I just got here and I don’t want to go anywhere else. My grandmother’s inheritance money has no better use than this. This is how I want to spend it. I love you, Rin.”

Rin bows his head as his breath hitches and he attempts to choke back a sob, his tears betraying him as they stream down his cheeks. When he lifts his head, he is beaming, like a rainbow emerging after a storm. “I’m so happy right now. Sousuke, you helped me get my feet off the ground, you were there when I was learning to fly. And Haru, you’re allowing me to soar.” Rin runs his thumb tenderly over Haru’s knuckles before lifting them to his mouth, lips pressing a light kiss on the back of his hand before clearing his throat and offering a watery smile. “You’re next, you know. Once this place starts really making it big we should open an art gallery, yeah? I know you’re all in for Samezuka, that we’re in this together, but I want to be all in for you too.”

They visit the rest of the day, Rin ducking away to tend to customers whenever necessary, but eventually the last patrons have trickled out and it’s closing time. Their drinks have long been drained, the papers have all been signed, ready to be taken to the bank to complete the transition, and Sousuke has said his goodbyes, both to Rin and his apron. He departs in a messy wet hug, promising to be back before he’s even missed. Rin stretches his arms and peers over at Haru.

“Come on.” Rin beckons him to follow, and Haru rises to do so, knowing he will happily venture anywhere Rin asks. They make their way behind the counter, Haru’s first time actually standing at the register looking out over the tables, showing him a sight he's never seen before, the finish line not fully visible until this moment. He owns a part of this now, this coffee shop that links the past to the future through the passionate heart of the present; Haru shares the dream and he’s proud of that. His eyes land on the mural on the opposite wall, Rin’s father proudly smiling and holding his young son’s hand, a boy who looks fit to burst with glee. Haru peeks at the grown version of that boy standing beside him, and sees a similar expression in the sparkling eyes that gaze back at him. 

“Not a bad view for your second favorite spot in the world, Rin. Although, maybe it’ll bump up higher on your list if I can finally get my hands on that shark logo on our front door. Maybe I'll paint a cactus.” Haru tips his head up to place a soft kiss on an inviting cheek, one which colors like cherry blossoms every time his lips touch it. 

“Haru, no cactus,” pleads Rin, as he loops his arms around Haru, tugging him in close, nestling his face into the protective crook of Haru’s neck. Haru closes his eyes, savoring the intimate moment within the comfort of their embrace. Rin lifts his head and nuzzles at Haru’s nose. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’ve already found the best place to be.”

 

 

❁❁❁❁❁

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hanakotoba is Japanese flower language. I didn't identify every flower in story, so here is a complete list of the flower meanings according to Japanese tradition. Some of these have multiple meanings (for instance, cherry blossoms also mean "pure, gentle heart" which is one reason why I think they are associated with Rin), in which case I'll indicate the meaning I was using. I researched a lot, but I am far from an expert of flower language. Please tell me if you spot an egregious misinterpretation. Theoretically, this is in order of flower appearance.
> 
> Hibiscus - Welcome  
> Iris - Loyalty  
> Cherry blossoms - Transience of life  
> Aster - Remembrance  
> Sweet pea - Farewell  
> Chrysanthemum - Truth  
> Poppy (yellow, though not indicated in Ssk's text) - Success  
> Red Camellia - Noble death, Love  
> Heather - Solitude  
> Morning Glory - Promise  
> Zinnia - Loyalty  
> Peony - Bravery  
> Honeysuckle - Generous  
> Jasmine - Friendly  
> Lily-of-the-Valley - Sweet  
> Hydrangea - Pride  
> Daffodil - Respect  
> Clover - Luck  
> Bluebells - Gratitude  
> Pink Rose - Trust  
> Forget-Me-Not - True love  
> Gardenia - Secret love  
> White Rose - Devotion  
> Carnation - Passion  
> Lavender - Faithful  
> Fringed Orchid - Dreaming (specifically of the person you love)  
> White Camellia - Waiting  
> Yellow Camellia - Longing  
> Yellow Tulip - Unrequited/One-sided love  
> Red Rose - Romantic Love  
> Cactus - Lust


End file.
